Betrayal, Pure and Painful
by purrfectj
Summary: An outtake that didn't fit into Dissonant Verses. "That hadn't been rage on Cullen's face, no, not just rage, but betrayal, pure and painful." - F!Trevelyan/Cullen


Skyhold.

She liked it here. Immense, open to the sky, broken but rebuilding, her people, yes, hers, Inquisitor, hers, safe and protected, a place of strength from which to spread the fingers of hope across the land. A library, with actual books, wonderful, beautiful, old books and Dorian, a study for Solas, an armory for Cassandra, a nook for Sera, Iron Bull and the Chargers mucking about the tavern, Cole in his quiet corner, Blackwall keeping an eye on the horses and the horsemaster, Varric telling tales by the fire. Josephine with a proper office, Leliana with her crows. Even Vivienne had found somewhere to nest.

And Cullen. He had been glad she had survived. She'd seen it in his face, heard it in his voice. His voice had been loudest when she took the sword, when she said the words. His nod of approval, his promise to protect the Inquisition, to protect her.

She rested her elbows on the railing of the southern balcony of her room, drinking in the sky and sun, face tilted up, eyes closed. She heard the door open behind her but didn't turn; only Dorian didn't knock.

"Why, you look positively happy. Has our studly Commander finally figured out why he carries such a big sword?" Yes, Dorian, who teased even as he stroked a hand down her back, as he gathered her against his side. It was strange, this ease with him, this brotherly concern and affection, the sigh she gave as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. She hadn't wanted to let him in anymore than she'd wanted to have feelings for Cullen. Dorian, however, was sneaky, and charming, and all of the things her mother had warned her about. He preferred, however, members of the same sex when it came to more personal entanglements.

Meera just shook her head, leaning into him, content to just be, to let him tease as he liked. The garden in her keep was flourishing; the garden in her heart growing.

She didn't hear the door open.

"Commander, we must stop meeting like this!"

The sound that Cullen made was somewhere between a groan and a grunt, as if someone had punched him in the solar plexus. His first thought was for the unmade bed, gaping and suggestive, intimate and knowing. His second was that she looked so lovely, so completely relaxed there with Dorian, in the sun, content, face peaceful instead of blank, her softness cleaving to his side. Oh, he knew how that felt, remembered with a pang how soft she'd been in his arms, even as cold and hurt as she was. Remembered, too, the promises, the threats he'd made when she'd gone limp.

Oh, Maker's breath, he wasn't going...yes, out, now, out, before he punched the smug bastard right in his handsome, smirking Tevinter face.

He'd turned to leave, he was going to leave, and then she said, softly, closer than he expected, "Cullen? Was there something you needed?" And she laid her hand on his arm, those soft, delicate fingers that had clung to his while she recuperated, that had tightened occasionally when the healing was too painful.

Armor, he'd not worn his armor, if he'd worn his armor he wouldn't have had to feel her skin burn through the thin material of his tunic, wouldn't have had to see how she rubbed, lightly, sensually, at the cloth, how her lips curved to smile at him, how her eyes warmed. And that damnable bed, right there, next to them, still warm, he suspected, and still so tempting. He swallowed, hard, his voice lodged somewhere in his chest, choked when he finally said, "I have to...go. I need to...excuse me."

The door didn't slam. He closed it firmly but sedately, along with the one inside of him.

"What just happened? Why did he...?" Meera stared at the door, frowning. Then her eyes widened and she looked from herself, to Dorian, and to the bedclothes she hadn't bothered to straighten. "Oh, Maker's balls."

"You should perhaps worry more about the Commader's balls, Mimi." Dorian wasn't smiling, however light his tone. That hadn't been rage on Cullen's face, no, not just rage, but betrayal, pure and painful. When Meera simply sank onto the edge of the bed, looking lost, Dorian sighed. "I'll talk to him, dear heart. Don't fret."

She simply nodded.


End file.
